Sages of the Underpass

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  The crowd was chanting, “Niko Zero!” Over and over. That name felt right. Niko Black was a kid trying to be cool. Niko Zero was an Artist that had earned that title.

  He’d never been more exhausted. He’d never felt better. He was a Battle Artist, a professional Battle Artist, in a stadium full of fans. He was living the dream.

  “This is the ‘it,’” he murmured. It was success. He’d reached the top of the mountain, and it felt good.

  The tiles floated back down to the field. His Assistant rushed to him, healing him, giving him both sharira and prana so he wouldn’t pass out.

  Danette ducked under the bamboo railing and hugged him. “You did it.”

  While the Assistant massaged him, he grinned at her. “What did I do again? The Twin Damage kick run? Yeah, thanks to you.”

  Danette shook her head. “No, you fought him. And what a fight it was. You went the distance.”

  He and Danette were hustled off the tiles, to the exam room, because Niko needed to be seen. Again, he’d been pushed to the limit, but this wasn’t MudCon, this was Fright Night. And they had several rounds of Arena Assistants to work the fights.

  Danette went to get his family and friends, to lead them down, and Niko was left alone in the clinic’s room. He sat shirtless. His eyes went down his body, his ab muscles, the ropes of his biceps, the burns, the bruises.

  Everything had changed so much in the past seven months. Everything felt brand new.

  He glanced up.

  LJ Crown stood in the doorway, arms crossed, in a black silk suit and a dark purple shirt. “Niko Zero.”

  Niko had no idea what to say. It was like meeting an Artist from the past. Franklin Wash might as well have been standing there.

  The Superstar

  NIKO STAYED QUIET. He still wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to say to the superstar. LJ Crown in the same room with him was a hard concept to grasp. He wasn’t at zero sharira anymore. Yet he’d still taken a pummeling. His face was swelling. His cheeks were painful to touch.

  LJ Crown swaggered in. He was a huge African-American man, shaved head, broad face, and broad shoulders. His shirt hugged every muscle. He’d won the Unum at the Grand Tournament that very year. Few people could touch him.

  He was a Jupiter Belt Gravitas Artist who also did some Harmonic Earth Studies. On the tiles, he literally crushed his opponents.

  “Niko Zero,” LJ Crown repeated. “Unrepresented. That won’t last long. If you don’t want it to.”

  “I got one agent’s card. Francisco Gold.” Niko had no idea where the card went. Where was his stuff again? He’d been so focused on the fight, he wasn’t sure. He’d been in his dressing room with the gift basket. He figured he’d get back there eventually.

  LJ smiled at him. “Frank is okay. There are better. There are worse. You’ll need an agent if you want to go anywhere, though. Or maybe you just want money. Do you just want the money?”

  That struck Niko the wrong way. A low-level rage boiled in his belly. He looked into the superstar’s face. “So what if I do? And what is this visit? I don’t mean to be rude, or maybe I do. I’ve been dicked with by people in power. I’m not going to dance to any tune. If you came in here playing music, there’s the door.”

  The smile stayed on LJ’s face. “Niko Zero. Took a beating, took it right on the chin. And you knew you would. You’re a Venus Belt going up against a Neptune. Andrew J. Coffey isn’t a slouch. Of course, he could’ve ended the fight in the first round. Some will say he got overconfident. No, it was more than that. He liked hitting you. I get that.”

  Niko closed his eyes, sighed, gathered a bit of prana, and then opened them. “What do you want, LJ?”

  “A nice girl with a big ass. No, that’s not what I want, it’s what I need. What I want is fifty thousand dollars. No, screw that, I want the pot at the end of the rainbow. But I came down here to say hello and congratulations.”

  “I didn’t win the fight,” Niko said.

  LJ shrugged. “Yeah, you did. You won’t help any of the Fantasy BA boys—BS boys is more like it—and it’ll go on your standings as a loss, but we both know you won. And not because there’s a chance the Arena Master will disqualify Andrew for hitting you after the fight ended. Which probably won’t happen because Barton Hennessey needed you to lose and his Artist to win. Otherwise, it might’ve hurt book sales.”

  LJ had his own agent, and he worked for Vannix House, not SoulFire.

  The superstar continued. “Whatever the final decision, you won the fans. That Inversion was ballsy. Looked like it hurt Andrew. Did it?”

  “Maybe someday you’ll find out.” Niko wasn’t sure what LJ really wanted, and if he’d come down for a friendly conversation, Niko wasn’t in the mood.

  “Barton said you had fire.” LJ smiled. “Talking trash to the world champion. I like it, Niko Zero, and I like you. You’re what the Arts needs, someone who doesn’t want to be a puppet. Since you’re collecting cards...” LJ reached into the pocket of his blazer and took out a card. He flipped it across the room.

  Niko caught it.

  “You can call me if you need advice, or have a question, or if you just want to talk trash. I can talk trash. It’s almost as good as fighting.”

  “Okay.” Niko gripped the card. “I have a question. Should I get an agent? Or should I fight Unrepresented? The BCBA is going to be a Division Four qualifier. It’s a path I could take. Dealing with Barton Hennessey has put a bad taste in my mouth.”

  LJ dropped his eyes. “Like I said, some agents are better than others. I will say this, if you want to get national exposure, you’re going to have an easier time if you go through the corporations. It’s just the way it works. Money, power, and people will know your name. Maybe that’s not what you want. What do you want?”

  “That’s not a new question,” Niko said. “I want to fight. I want to get better. I want to enjoy this moment, because here you are, LJ Crown, giving me your card. You might be a good guy. You might be an evil asshole. Time will tell.”

  “Enjoying the moment.” LJ lost his smile. The glint in his eye dimmed. “Maybe you picked the wrong business, my friend. Power and money are hard. And so, at times, is people knowing your name.” The guy lightened. “Either way, thanks for giving me and the fans a good fight.”

  LJ put out a hand.

  Niko took it.

  LJ gripped it hard. He’d added some prana to the handshake. “If we did ever fight, I’d put you down quick. You’re dangerous, Niko Zero. In this business? That’s a good way to be.”

  He let go. Niko thought he must’ve lost at least a percentage point of sharira.

  LJ left, waving goodbye with two fingers flipped above his head.

  Niko massaged his hand. LJ thought that hard handshake might intimidate Niko. Did the superstar not know who he was dealing with?

  “LJ,” Niko said to the empty room, “it would be my pleasure to throw myself at your fists for fifteen minutes.”

  That would be a battle with definite PR benefits. Maybe Niko could be the underdog who never won, but who never quit. You could build a career on that.

  And if he got beat down to zero, he’d walk to his corner on stubborn will alone.

  That came from his family.

  Speaking of which, Danette led them, the other Sages, and his friends into the room. Pete was there, but not Aleksy.

  “Did I hear helicopters during the fight?” Niko asked.

  Pete coughed out a laugh. “That Aleksy, always working. Yes, helicopters. It seems there was a daemon who would’ve killed to get seats.”

  Bonnie came over and kissed his cheek. “Nice work down there.”

  When Niko showed them LJ’s card, Danette said, “Did you ask him if he wanted to join the Sages?”

  “I didn’t. Should we invite him?” Niko asked. His eyes went to Pax and Evelyn.

  Pax shook his head vehemently. “Never. He’s not that good. And you already have a big bruiser working the Earth s
igns. That would be me. Only a matter of time until my core heals.”

  “Evelyn?” Niko was purposefully putting her on the spot.

  “He’s far more handsome than Pax. But no, Niko, I don’t think LJ Crown would be a good fit for us.”

  There it was. Evelyn would be coming back. Niko was glad.

  Mamo and Tato bustled forward, to hug him, to kiss him. Tato slammed his palm on Niko’s back. “My boy, fighting on Fright Night. You went the distance. My boy. My Niko.” His eyes glistened with tears.

  “Niko Zero,” Mamo said, her eyes clear. “I like it. You didn’t win. But already, we have people visiting the Fix-It Shoppe webpage. This can get us new clients. This can keep the dream of our business alive a bit longer.”

  “A dream is a wonderful, terrible, powerful thing.” Niko smiled at his mom.

  “Quoting The Pranad again?” Pete asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Evelyn answered. Did her eyes linger on Pete?

  “It’s from me.” Mamo reached out and touched Niko’s hair. “I say it. Today, Nikodemus, your dream is wonderful and powerful. Let it be terrible some other day.”

  The Liars

  ANDREW RAN INTO BARTON at the airport. The agent was hard to miss. He looked like a scarecrow who’d struck it rich. Luckily, they were going to two different places, so Andrew only had to suffer through his agent at the bar, not on the flight. Barton was on his way to Angel City to meet with an Artist who was looking to leave SoulFire for Vannix House. Things had been shaken up at SoulFire after the level-six cambion had been caught.

  Some news streams were calling it a Level-X daemon, while others wanted to use a new term for it. Others whispered that the level-six had been a true demon, something out of the pits of hell, complete with a diabolical intellect and taste for human blood. That was why it had gone on the killing spree.

  SoulFire insisted it was business as usual.

  Barton stirred his drink with his finger and then slurped the booze off it. It was one of those annoying things that Andrew had disregarded for years because of what Barton could do for him. Andrew hadn’t asked the agent to stop stirring his drinks with his finger. What else had Andrew not said to get where he was now?

  And where was he exactly?

  Into his fourth glass of wine. At the South Valley Airport. On his way to Platte River City. The good ol’ PRC, a mile high. He liked the three-letter acronym towns, Salt Lake City, the PRC, the OKC in Oklahoma. The Battle Con in the PRC would be a small event, exactly like MudCon, where this nonsense with Niko Black began.

  Excuse me. Niko Zero. He far preferred Niko Black. Even Nick Zero would have been better. Or he should change his first name to Zack, and there you have it, Zack Zero.

  “You’re welcome,” Barton said.

  “For what?”

  “For the win against Niko Zero.” Barton grinned. “Don’t get me wrong, you won before the Arena Master said anything. However, the LBA frowns on post-round violence.”

  “It wasn’t a League fight.” Andrew sipped his wine. A plane eased away from a gate and started down the runway. There was a time when he found airports exciting, romantic even, but now they were simply a necessary evil.

  He’d gotten five thousand dollars from Barton for showing up. He hadn’t gotten the second five thousand because he’d failed to humiliate the kid. Barton didn’t mention it. Andrew hadn’t asked for it.

  “Not a League fight,” Barton said. “That’s what I told the Arena Master. He and I are old friends. He saw the light. This is where you give me your gratitude.” Barton’s voice was easy and comfortable. The words were barbed.

  Andrew let them slip off him. “Thank you, Barton, for the whole thing. My whole career.”

  Barton sighed happily because he was a man who liked to hear what he wanted. If you fed him the right platitudes, he gave you gifts. “You did all the fighting. And you’re easy to work with. Well, up until recently, but we settled our current difficulties. You’ll continue to get a cut from the BCBA Quarterly Cons, though we need to come up with another big splash for the next one. We won’t be a Division Four qualifier until next year. That one will be easy to promote. Every Unrepresented schmo in a hundred miles will be dying to come. Maybe we do a lottery for fights, but only for people who bought a ticket. Battle Artists themselves make the best fans.”

  It shouldn’t be that way. Andrew wasn’t going to argue against the truth.

  “Book sales are good,” Barton said. “I have a signing for us in the Meadows over the holidays. What do you get the Artist in your life? A copy of Eternal Warrior with a foreword by Andrew J. Coffey. I’ll cover travel expenses for you.”

  “Sounds great.” Another airport. Another hotel suite. No other money. However, people would be there, and Andrew’s fan base was dwindling. The bad boy Battle Artist thing wasn’t getting as much play as he had wanted. He hadn’t committed fully to it, so there was still time for damage control. He’d cycled the cambion, and yet, inside, he didn’t feel right. His cycling and meditation had been shit lately. Divorces played hell on your serenity.

  “Andrew, I know you’re going through a tough time. I have good news, though. I got you on the short list for the Grand Tournament. SoulFire has some new Sanguine for their full Zodiac team, but he isn’t as good as you are. I’m working to get you in.”

  Andrew knew that was a lie. He had contacts in the LBA, and he wasn’t on SoulFire’s radar for that event. He hadn’t been at the Grand Tournament in seven years, not since his big sacrifice play in 2012.

  “Your Fright Night win has people talking about you again,” Barton said.

  Another lie. The comments and buzz on So-Me were all about Niko Zero—what he could do, how far he might go—the underdog who could take a punch and walk back to his corner without a drop of sharira or prana in him.

  “Believe me,” the agent said. “We have decades together. You might have given up on me, but I’ll never give up on you. Our history means something.”

  Believe me. That was something liars said. Or, Let me be honest with you.

  When people said that, it meant most of the time, they were lying. Otherwise, why wouldn’t they always be honest with you?

  Andrew had been too quiet. He had to say something that at least sounded sincere and meaningful. “Barton, we have been together for a long time. I’m sorry for the Fright Night drama. I got greedy.” That was partially true. The whole truth? He’d gotten desperate. He wasn’t going to say that to his agent. Andrew didn’t want to appear weak.

  What had Niko said during their chat in the suite at MudCon? His high school coach had said not to show weakness... When you were done, you never just lay on the tiles, you at least got up on one knee. Or if you were Niko, you got to your feet, no matter how shitty you felt, and you walked to your corner as if you had all the power in the world.

  “Greed is good,” Barton said. “It’s a motivating factor. It can help with the warrior’s fire inside you. I’m hoping our worst days are behind us. This is only the beginning, Andrew. Your new Neptune Belt should give us new opportunities. I know you have your doubts about your brand change, but I like it. Andrew J. Coffey was a good guy, an Artist with flawless technique, but now, he’s going to get to the top by any means necessary. We spin it as a comeback story. People love a comeback story.”

  Andrew let the wine get to him, and he was tired of the lying. “I didn’t think I’d gone anywhere, but you’re right. I need to come back.”

  But did he want that? Part of him was weary of the struggle. More than that, the endless games of positioning, the desperation of the PR campaigns, and the whole mess of the industry had exhausted him.

  It had cost him his wife and most of his family. Andrew’s friends had become mere contacts for bigger, better events. His life seemed like nothing but endless networking.

  “We have to save the business, Andrew,” Barton said. “We can’t let all these Unrepresented Artists ruin the Arts. We have to be the gatek
eepers. We have to keep things the way they are, the way they’ve been for decades.”

  Yes, they did; otherwise, Barton Hennessey would lose his fifteen percent. He’d admitted that greed was good. That was probably the only truthful thing he’d said during their long conversation.

  Barton glanced at his watch. “I have to catch my flight. Seriously, Andrew, are you doing okay?”

  Andrew drained his wine. “I’m fine. This is the life, right? The Arts are everything. You keep working things on your end, and I’ll keep fighting. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

  Was he all that good? His technique was flawless, but that didn’t seem to mean as much as it once did.

  “One last thing. Did you see the online clips of SoulFire’s CBA? She caught that daemon outside the stadium, and she used Studies from nearly every single sign to do it.”

  The question caught Andrew off guard. He had no answer. What she had done seemed pretty impossible. Most of the internet thought it was a SoulFire publicity stunt, a doctored video. Then again, a hundred years ago, Artists hadn’t been so confined. The best won, whether they stuck to their Harmonic Studies or not.

  “Things are changing,” Andrew muttered. “Not sure what I think.”

  “Let’s not have them change too much.” Barton stood and put a cold hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself. I’ll be in touch.”

  The agent left.

  Andrew wasn’t sure he was sober enough to get on his flight, and he couldn’t have a spectacle of him staggering around. Or maybe he could. If he was going after the bad boy angle, a drunk stumbling around an airport might get him into the news. People might love a comeback story. They also loved seeing celebrities slide into trouble.

  “Is it time to give up?” Andrew asked himself.

  He had no answer. He got on his flight to the PRC and slept the entire way. Everyone thought he was living the dream of a professional Battle Artist. One thing they don’t tell you, nightmares are dreams too.